I didn’t think I’d write a poem
that was fueled by hatred
but I think it’s about time
that my hate was satiated.
Or that I was appreciated
or that you reciprocated
‘Cause this whole time
I’ve been pulling strings
so your pain could be
and I’ve been deflated,
like a popped balloon.
Who knew that it would end so soon?
That you would play me like tune
and I’d be playing the buffoon?
Now every time you’re in the room
I can’t help wishing for your doom.
For someone to come in,
take you out, and
leave you buried
in a tomb.
Well let me say it without a doubt:
You better get the extinguisher
‘Cause now the fire’s coming out.
You told me that your love was free
but all you did was sell me pain
and now you’ve put that blame on me
so you can watch me go insane.
You watched me
kill, murder, maim, shoot, slay, and torture,
still furthered pain, out making disorder.
we were a thing; that I gave you a daughter,
but when that beauty popped out
I knew I wasn’t the father.
So go to hell.
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